


Family of Three

by east_sunrise



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Adorable Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV), Angst, F/M, Fluff, Injury, Mando Really Hasn't Had to Communicate with Another Person for So Long, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Reader-Insert, Small mention of blood, Sparring, Working Out Problems Instead of Yelling at Each Other, communication problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:28:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26450410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/east_sunrise/pseuds/east_sunrise
Summary: Neither of you could have predicted the outcome of this specific work arrangement.
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You
Comments: 9
Kudos: 140





	Family of Three

Some people spoke Huttese or Jawaese, on top of the general Basic. One memorable scholar had been fluent in the Tusken language. You read facial expressions and body language fluently, and had also learned to manipulate your own to tell different stories. Most think to guard their tongues, but don’t think to shield others from a twitch of a hand here, or a nervous tic there. But the Mandalorian guarded every aspect of himself, and you were more than a little unsettled by the man. 

The Mandalorian was a paradox. He killed without mercy, but protected the child with all of the ferocity of a kell dragon. His demeanor and level of social interaction reflected that of a droid, though his body language hinted at something on an organic level. He moved too smoothly and silently to be a droid.

You mostly tried to keep out from underfoot while aboard the Razor Crest, and to be honest the kid kept you busy for a decent chunk of that time. The little green bat was fifty years old, but you could have been fooled into thinking that it was a fraction of that, with the pure innocence and curiosity reflected in its dark eyes. You had lost that naiveté by the time you were... it didn’t matter. As soon as you had laid eyes upon the child and learned that your job was going to be caring for the tiny, trusting, waddling kid, you had sworn to yourself that the child would never come to harm under your care. Afterwards, however, you had felt foolish, since the child was probably the safest it could ever be when it was the surrogate of a Mandalorian. 

The Mandalorian was as far removed from the normal world as he could be, and those first days did as much to reemphasize this to you. The Razor Crest projected more personality to you in those first days on the ship, scrubbing floors and caring for the kid, and barely even seeing the metal man who ghosted silently in and out of the cockpit.

Although, he would still come in every now and then and stand behind you, silent as a shadow. The first time that he did that, you swore that he had taken several years off of your life. You had jumped a meter into the air, but the baby had just looked up at the armored man and giggled, waddling at its full speed of slightly faster than a legless womp rat towards the Mandalorian. He immediately crouched to greet it in return, gently lifting the child when it extended its arms expectantly. And you had sat there from your previous position of half-dead shock and gaped at the scene before you. 

You had met Mando while he was collecting a quarry. And he had been absolutely brutal, not hesitating to snap the wrist of the bounty when it tried to steal his blaster. Cuffs had appeared magically, but he hadn’t ended up needing them when the quarry tried to make a break for it, slamming its hand into the blank visor and bolting towards the nearest alleyway. A smoking hole appeared in the back of its head a millisecond later. 

But the Mandalorian that you saw in front of you, cradling the helpless baby and running a finger along the edge of its fragile ear, that was something different. At that moment, you knew that there was a living, breathing man under there. But you also knew how dangerous the Mandalorian was. 

You had seen death, and made your own judgment. But you had also seen life, and love, and nurturing, and care. The worlds were essentially exclusive, and the Mandalorian walked the line between those worlds a little too easily.

The mudhorn signet worn by the metal man represented more than just a kill.

That was when you knew that you respected the man underneath the mask. There wasn’t an exact way to pinpoint when you knew that you liked him. That you were falling for a man who you hadn’t even touched. A man who would almost positively never return your feelings, or even look at you the same way you looked at him. And even if he did, it wasn’t like any relationship that was more than strictly professional could ever come of it, right?

And yet, you would sometimes look up from your seat to find his helmet turned towards you instead of focusing on the ship’s position, his expression completely concealed behind his helmet. Or you would feel a glove on your wrist, carefully brushing past your hand before flipping a switch, body half a millimeter too close to yours to be considered professional. And you would be lying if you said that a thrill didn’t run through your stomach every damn time.

But there were boundaries that you would not break. These lines seemed unbreakable, uninfringed, and they were made clearer when he had stumbled back onto the ship, unconscious bounty in tow. From first glance, you had known that something was wrong, and your grip had tightened unconsciously on the dozing kid in your lap as you turned its head away from the sight.

He had dragged the bounty onto the ship by the leg, the head making a hollow thunk-thunk-thunk as it crossed the threshold of the Razor Crest’s ramp. One glance was all that was needed to confirm that this particular bounty was brought in cold. But the body had only held your attention for a split second before you noticed the Mandalorian’s uneven gait, contrasting so sharply against the confident, purposeful stride he normally had. You immediately stood, carrying the kid to the cockpit and placing it in the cradle. There was bacta spray lying on the console, no doubt left there after some other problematic bounty. 

You grabbed it and returned to the bay in time to see the Mandalorian, back to you and rummaging through the cabinet where the first aid kit was kept.You walked towards the hunched figure, extending your arm to offer the bacta spray, when he whipped around. Beskar flashed faster than you could register, and you cried out as your arm was yanked aside forcefully, sending the bacta spray flying. He froze, and for a moment of startling clarity, you saw the horror that he projected as his glove dug painfully into your twisted arm. Your eyes locked on his helmet’s visor, and suddenly the pain in your arm faded and all you could think about was how exhausted he was that he would lash out at you. “Mando--” you began.

He grunted, releasing your arm before brushing past you, the fresher door sliding shut behind him. You sat against the door and tried not to wince when you heard the buzzing of the cauterizer and the muffled groans from inside. As you sat there, your eye was drawn to a red smear left on the control panel of the Crest’s bay door. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from that streak of blood. Finally, you stood and left the forgotten bacta by the door, going to check on the child.

When you reached the top of the ladder, you found the kid sitting in its cradle, the lid mysteriously open although you swore that you had closed it. There was a small whimper, and you sighed, scooping the little green child up and holding it close to your chest. “It’s okay. He’s going to be okay.”

As you murmured to the kid, you went and sat in the pilot’s chair. You input coordinates to the next quarry and ran a diagnostics check. Swiping through the list of alerts, you began a mental checklist of supplies to get from Nevarro, getting lost in the easy pattern of lights and system reports. When the cockpit door opened, you barely paid it any mind until a gruff voice echoed through the modulator, “What are you doing?”

“Running diagnostics. We’re going to need every bounty if the totals I have are right.”

“I didn’t need you to do that.” He wasn’t moving, and the presence hovering behind you was starting to make you squirm.

You swiveled the seat to look at him, “I just wanted to--”

“I can do it myself.” There was steel in his voice, and you wordlessly got up and moved back to the co-pilot’s chair. He took his seat, and your eyes were drawn to how he was favoring his left arm. You kept your mouth shut.

As he rechecked hull integrity and the hyperdrive functionality, you spoke into the silence that usually went uninterrupted, “Best in the parsec, huh?”

The helmet paused, and the hands froze over the controls, hesitating for a split second before continuing. “Where did you hear that?”

“It’s hard to miss when Karga is proclaiming it to everyone who won’t listen. Funny how you’re the one who keeps coming back with the shit beat out of him, though.“  
Now you had his attention. You could tell, even though he was still soaring through the pre-flight check. There was a gaze burning into you, making your skin tingle. You ignored it though, letting him stew in silence. It would only help you get what you wanted.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
You sat in the cockpit, child in the crook of your arm as you tried to persuade the little womp rat to eat a little. It seemed to think that it was funny to take the food, getting your hopes up before it would sag its jaw, letting the mush dribble out of its mouth and consequently all over you. Finally, you gave up, reassuring yourself that you had gotten at least two spoonfuls into the little bat. You carried the kid out to the bay, almost running straight into Mando. 

He’s standing all but right underneath the ladder leading to the cockpit, so that when your feet left the last rung and hit the metal floor of the hull he had to take a step back lest you should bump into him. The baby was clutched like a package in the crook of your arm as you turned around to find his chest inches from yours, and all you could think about was how easy it would be step a little closer--

And then his arm was reaching out like he’s going to--

No, he’s only collecting the child from you, and you let out the tiny breath that you hadn’t realized that you were holding. Stars, your heart is racing like the time you had been running for your life through the crowded Canto Bight streets, or when Mando had gently taken hold of your wrist during your first flying lesson, or anytime Mando was even within a foot of you--

You stopped. Now was definitely not the time to get distracted since the holding bay had been completely transformed in the time it took for you to shove two spoonfuls of food into the kid. All of the boxes and supplies have been shoved to one side, stacked in between the carbonite chamber and his weapons rack. There are soft pelts and skins spread over the flat portion of the floor, cushioning the normally stark and bare area of the Crest. The end result is a free space roughly ten by ten paces, and you’re immediately suspicious. “What are you doing?” You asked, suddenly very aware of your surroundings.

He doesn’t respond, making sure that the child is comfortable and safe on top of the crate before turning around. He rested his arms on his belt, standing as if he didn’t have a care in the world, but you could tell that he was studying you, carefully measuring every action.

Finally, he broke the silence, “You can shoot.” He knew the answer to that, had seen you in action with a blaster before. But you humored him, “Yes.”

“But your close combat is... worse.”

This was a startling change considering how blunt he normally is when he speaks to you. Not exactly an open book to read, but a slightly cracked one instead of the normal closed off demeanor. You raised an eyebrow, but you couldn’t suppress the small smile at this new side of Mando, “What are you trying to say, Mando?”

He didn’t respond, of course, but your heart immediately leapt into your throat when his hands left his belt and slowly unhooked his chestpiece, placing the beskar in a pile on top of the crate where the child was. The Mandalorian disengaged the rest of his armor, carefully placing the beskar plates in neat piles on top of various cargo in the bay. It’s oddly intimate even though you don’t see a single patch of skin, as the Mandalorian stands before you in only the dark wrappings that he wears under his armor. He carries himself hesitantly, and you can’t blame him: this is the most uncovered that he has ever been in front of you, maybe in front of anyone, in a long time.

You can feel your heart beating out of your chest as you carefully step forward. Before you can get closer, though, he cuts you off, “I want to teach you how to fight.”

"Okay...”

“Mandalorians lead dangerous lives. Bounty hunters too. The target on your back is twice as big since you’re with me.” His helmet tilted as he spoke, and you had to force yourself to keep your eyes on his visor, rather than everything... south of there. 

It’s hard, considering that his unarmored body is a whole treasure trove of information that you hadn’t seen before, one that you longed to learn. It was incredibly hard to focus when you could feel his gaze burning into you from behind that black visor, but you knew what you wanted for yourself, and more importantly, you knew what you wanted for the child.

And to think that a single jab could get the Mandalorian to give you the sparring lessons that you wanted.

“When do we start?” You asked, a smile starting to spread over your face.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Your back hit the ground with a dull thud, and the air whooshed out of your body, leaving you sprawled on the ground and gasping for breath. Did the Razor Crest’s respiration modulator still function? You were going to have to take a look at that after the world stopped spinning and your lungs stopped feeling like they were being crushed by a full-grown fathier.

“Too slow. Try again.” The bane of your existence stood there, looking deceptively soft without his armor. You knew better, or rather, you didn’t. Mando was wickedly fast without the beskar weighing him down, and you hadn’t managed to land a single hit in a week of this training. You knew how to punch, but Mando had helped you with form and shown you a couple of basic holds and throws that you could use. Not that you had actually gotten the chance to. After the lesson, he would stand on the other side of the “practice space” and instruct you to try to hit him. 

He called it sparring, but it seemed to consist more of you taking hard landings than any actual sparring. The small allowance of a padded area to practice in had saved your life, and prevented many a bruise, though it hadn’t done much for your dignity.

“Glaring at me won’t get you out of this.”

You managed a wheeze as you pulled yourself upright and to your feet, the sound dusty and dry as you struggled to gather enough air in your lungs. “If I had a blaster--”

“But you don’t.”

“Yeah, but if I did, I could just shoot you where you stand. No need for punching.”

He said nothing, only sinking comfortably into a ready stance, arms raised. You sighed, rolling out your aching shoulders before mirroring his pose. You may have known that you were terribly outmatched in this particular battle, but you were proud, and not just a little petty. You wanted a win, and you would push until you got one.

“Start.”

You began the ‘dance’, circling to one side and bouncing back and forth slightly on your heels, trying to read his body and see when the attack was coming.

“Stop that.” He grunted.

Your head tilted to the side, “What?”

“You’re trying to predict when I’m going to attack. Don’t.” And then he was a blur, and your arms were twisted behind your back painfully, your cheek pressed into the animal skin lining the ground. His weight bore down on you, and even though it was probably lessened by the lack of armor, you’re still barely able to draw a breath. His knee pressed into the small of your back, “You’re small. People will see you as weak.” Anger flared in your chest, and you tried to push up against him. His breath caught for a split second, but you weren’t given time to take advantage before his knee returned and pushed you down even harder. “You can’t wait. You must attack first. Disable them, and run. You won’t win in a fair fight.”

He released your arms and you rolled to your feet, breathing hard through your nose as you narrowed your eyes at Mando and sank into your fighting stance. Rage boiled in the pit of your stomach, but you focused solely on the man across from you, narrowing the fiery anger into a laser beam focus. Your arms came up in front of you, elbows raised and you bounced gently on the balls of your feet. He bent his legs at the knees, and you could tell that he was getting ready to pounce. 

His helmet inclined toward you, “You’re tired. We take a break as soon as you can land a hit on me.”

“I haven’t landed a punch all week!” You snapped indignantly, your fatigued muscles aching as you kept them raised and at the ready.

“Then you’ll be more motivated now.”

Your chest burned from the exertion, but you shoved past the exhaustion and frustration. Every breath burned down your windpipe, and the soreness in your body only promised a much more painful tomorrow. But you couldn't afford to focus on that right now. You had a sparring match to win.

“St--”

This time, you took his advice. Sliding forward, you ducked under his guard and jabbed him in the stomach, spinning out of his reach before he could regroup. It was dirty, backhanded, and unfair, but he had all but told you to do so, and you weren’t backing down from the challenge now.

Mando let out a grunt when your elbow connected, and stumbled back a pace. He hadn’t been ready for the blow, and for a split second you were worried that you had hurt him. Then the world blurred and you couldn’t stifle the yelp as your legs were swept from under you. Huh. Had the ceiling of the Razor Crest always had that many scorch marks on it? You didn’t have time to ponder it before Mandalorian steel filled your vision, and you were pinned to the floor. 

Time seemed to freeze as you stared up into the blackness of Mando’s visor. You were breathing hard, and you were close enough that you could hear him breath, both through the voice modulator and from under the helmet. 

The air around you seemed crystallized, about to shatter with the tiniest bit of pressure, like a web of beautiful frost that would fade with a single breath. You felt the heat radiating off of his body, could even feel his hand slightly trembling where it pinned yours above your head. The sheer adrenaline at his body so close to your own made your heart pound, and you could barely focus on anything beside the points where he was touching you, and the throbbing between your legs.

Well that was an unintended side effect. You inhaled sharply through your nose, and his helmet tilted almost imperceptibly, and was it your imagination or was it hovering closer?

The moment broke, and he pulled away, releasing your arms and standing up as quickly and stiffly as any droid. 

“We’re finished for today.” He stated, and you stared at him from your prone position on the floor. He was once again a stone wall, unreadable and all business. He stalked past you to the fresher, the door sliding shut behind him, and you had a brief flashback to that one day that had landed you into this situation now.

You got up in a daze, somehow meandering up to the cockpit. You collapsed into the pilot’s seat. The stars streaked by outside. Hyperspace was so beautifully cold, and you got lost in the whirlwind of light even as your hand drifted downwards and dipped beneath your waistband.

You had to bite down on the back of your hand to keep from whispering his name too loud when you came all over your hand.   
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
As soon as the fresher door slid shut behind him, Mando tore the helmet off and collapsed onto the floor, mind too preoccupied to even appreciate the freedom that came whenever he took it off. Fuck. 

His head sagged against the wall, and he almost didn’t care when a twinge of pain came from the rougher than normal impact on his skull. Too used to the helmet. The thought flitted across his mind, but he had more important things to worry about, namely the throbbing in his pants that had made itself known to him in the most unfortunate of timings. 

He hadn’t thought, only reacted. He didn’t think that you were going to actually listen to him, to duck in like that and take advantage of his arrogance. And then, after years of living off of defensive instinct, his body had countered on its own, sweeping your legs and pinning you to the floor. His ribs still ached where you had driven a short jab into him, but he wasn’t upset, no, if anything he was glowing with pride at how you had handled yourself. Glowing with more than just pride, if his current predicament was any indication.

His hands scrabbled at the fastening of his pants, and he barely remembered to yank his gloves off before his shaking fingers were able to find the clasp and release it. What if you’re listening? 

He shoved the thought to the side. He needed this so bad, had for the past week. But, just in case, he grabbed the helmet and jammed it back onto his head, turning on the white noise mod and praying to whatever Maker was out there that it would be enough. 

As he took himself in his hand, a guttural noise was ripped from his throat. He swiped a thumb over the head, biting his lip to keep from being too loud, because he was a little paranoid at heart, dammit. He was paranoid of you hearing, of the kid hearing, because even this tiny moment of vulnerability wasn’t something to be allowed for a person like him. 

His hand stroked over his cock, dragging another moan out of his throat as he replayed the image of when you had danced out of range after your attack and how you had looked so damn gorgeous when you were laid out beneath him, vulnerable and helpless but still with a spark of defiance. That thought made his heart skip a beat and a fresh wave of arousal swept through him. 

Stars, he wanted you. He wanted to be with you, without any barriers.

He groaned again, his eyes slamming shut behind the visor as he writhed on the ground, too dry fist clamped around his cock. The helmet sat, angled awkwardly on his head, the metal digging into the crook of his neck and then he’s tearing it off again because he can’t bring himself to care enough as his breaths grew shakier. White-hot light edged his vision as he finally spilled into his palm, gasping your name brokenly into the still air of the fresher.

He stayed in that position for a while, staring back at the helmet on the floor. The blackness of the visor held his attention, swallowed him up into its void. Is that what you saw every time you looked at him? Just a mask, a bounty hunter, completely blocked out and unreachable? Would you ever want more than just the helmet?

He had known the risks when taking you on board. He knew that there could be complications when taking anyone on board long-term, especially someone so young and pretty as you. He always thought that it would be outside advances upon you that he would have to repel, but he had never anticipated his own rebellious heart latching onto you. His self-control was weakened by the presence of a girl--no, a woman, like you within such close quarters on the Razor Crest. 

You were independent and strong. He had known that when he had even considered recruiting you to watch the kid, it had been a requirement when recruiting someone to work under the employ of a bounty hunter. After you had come on board, you were caring and protective of the baby, and you had surprised him in how much work you put into the child’s care and comfort. You had protected and loved his child in ways that he could not.

But, that one day had made all of the difference. You had cared for him, even though he had probably spoken less than two consecutive sentences to you before then. You had offered him the bacta spray, and hadn’t gotten angry when he had spooked and nearly broken your arm. You hadn’t been angry when he was cold to you in the cockpit after; when he just needed control and you had willingly given it to him. But the petty, backhanded comment had shown him exactly where he was falling short.

Mandalorians valued strength in their society. Strong bodies were praised, strong minds were worshipped, and strong families were held upon the highest pedestal, for a strong family base meant all of the above. And somehow, you had come onto his ship, not knowing the slightest bit about Mandalorian society, and filled a role that had created a family in the cold heart of space. Even Mando couldn’t ignore that, and he hadn’t, and now every time he looked at you there was a tug in the center of his chest, one that he had only ever felt during those precious moments with his mother and father. 

Mando knew the fragility of a home, knew the dangers of becoming too reliant upon them. He himself had had homes taken out from under him. But every time the Razor Crest came into view over the horizon, the thrill that went through his chest at the idea of seeing you again shed light upon the problem that he was facing. A strong family meant that he had once again found a home.

You had created a home for him, and Mando knew in that moment that he was willing to do anything to protect this family he had found.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The door to the cockpit slid open, startling you out of your daze as Mando walked in, eerily silent despite the reattached armor and boots. He stopped, staring at you and in an instant you remembered that you were sitting in his chair. Jumping up, you switched to the co-pilot’s chair and he sat in the pilot’s. But he didn’t set coordinates, or run a pre-flight check. Instead, he sat there in silence, and you got the itching feeling that he was looking directly at you from behind the mask.

“I wouldn’t have said no.” You jumped when he spoke, even though you had been preparing yourself.

“What?”

“If you had asked,” he clarified. “I wouldn’t have said no to teaching you how to fight close quarters.”

Shit. He knew. Granted, you didn’t think that he was dumb, but you had forgotten that the Mandalorian was blunt above all else. “Uh--”

“I’m... also bad at communication.” You blinked. You hadn’t expected that at all. He continued, “I need to set a guideline here, if this is going to work out. You have to tell me what you need, what you want. Don’t dance around it. And I’ll work on that too, and start asking for help.”

You could only stare. It wasn’t an apology for the bacta, but it was so much more than you had expected. There was a tentative trust that had been placed with you. Sure, he had been trusting you with his child, and technically his ship, but now he was trusting you with himself, and the idea of that shook something in your chest. You nodded slowly, “Okay.”  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Weeks turned into months, which eventually turned into a full year of being aboard the Razor Crest. Your relationship with Mando evolved into a tentative friendship. You worked well together, whether in technical repairs or taking care of the child.

You got off of the ship whenever you could, relishing in the feeling of wind on your skin, or sunlight whenever the opportunity presented itself. When there was a break, Mando came off of the ship with you, and you two sat together as you watched the baby play.

“Does it look like you?” Mando’s helmet turned at the question. There wasn’t any deep meaning behind the question, only the vague need to fill the silence. 

“What do you think?” It might be just you, but you almost detected a faint trace of amusement in the modulated voice.

You mulled over the question silently, before responding, “No.”

“Why?”

“You’re too tall.”

You earned a laugh at that statement. “Not the ears?”

“The kid’s fifty years old. If that’s how tall it is now, it’s definitely not getting much bigger over the next hundred.” You stopped and considered the proportions of the child. “Anyway, you could have squished your ears down to fit in that helmet or something. Or your helmet could have a magic portal that your ears fit into.”

He laughed again, the sound distorted by the modulator, “I think the question is if it knows that it doesn’t look like me or you.”

“It might believe that it’s going to grow a helmet one day. Probably will be disappointed when it doesn’t.” You idly watched the kid waddle through a patch of grass, releasing a cloud of pollen.   
It squealed happily, waving its stubby arms in the air as it tried to catch the flickering dust.

“Or it could think that it’ll grow up to look like you. You’re just as much of a mother to the kid as I am its father.” You looked sharply at Mando before ducking your head to conceal the slight blush that crossed your face.

“I hope I’m not leading by terrible example, then.”

A hand hesitantly came to rest around your shoulders. “You’re not. That kid is the happiest little green womp rat in the entire galaxy because of you.”

You relaxed into the touch after a second, “Thanks. Not like I had much of an example to learn from.”

“Couldn’t tell. Anyway, you have me to be your example. I’ve been a buir longer than you have been one.”

You smiled at that, then paused, “What did you just call me?”

“Buir.” 

“What does that mean?”

A soft noise came from under his helmet, too soft to be picked up by the modulator, but just loud enough for you to be able to hear from where you were sitting. “It’s a term in Mando’a. The best translation I can think of right now is ‘parent’, but the concept is deeper than that. It implies an undying trust, and responsibility.” You were quiet, turning the word over in your head a couple of times. 

“I like it. Thank you.”

Your relationship with Mando grew rapidly over the months, founded on friendship and your love for the child. There was a fluidity in how you worked together, both of you sensing what the other needed, and doing your best to provide. His dry sense of humor complemented yours well, and even if there wasn’t ever loud laughter ringing through the ship, there was always a sense of comfort in the time spent together.

Which you had considered a mistake at first. The time spent with him made you happy, maybe a little too happy. You caught yourself staring at him more than once. Okay, maybe more than that. And, maybe, you had had a couple of... dreams about him. Which normally wouldn’t be an issue, except that you slept in the holding bay, or the cockpit, or wherever was available. 

Meaning that a certain bounty hunter who seemed to not need sleep was free to wander in on your less appropriate dreams. You didn’t know if you talked in your sleep, but it had definitely not been good for your heart to wake up from a dirty dream about Mando to find him sitting next to you in the cockpit. He hadn’t mentioned it, so you just assumed that he didn’t notice.  
The increasing amount of time that you spent with Mando made the long periods of his absence even more obviously quiet and empty. Sure, the kid took up a lot of your time. It got into everything, and you would rather forget about some of the things you had seen while cleaning up after the baby.

But after the kid had been fed, burped, and put down, the ship was dead silent. And you hated the quiet. Chores and maintenance only did so much before your mind and wild thoughts filled the silence. And, of course, at the center of these wonderings was the man who you were trying so hard to not think about.

There was no denying the spark that went through your chest at the mere presence of Mando, whether in your mind or physically in front of you. 

The worst part of this entire situation was that it made no sense to your head, but it made perfect sense to your heart. You were falling hard for him, harder than you had ever fallen before, and that was all that you could really understand about it. The logical side of you protested, of course. You didn't know his name. You hadn’t ever heard his actual voice. You hadn’t even seen his face. And yet, for some reason you were falling for the bounty hunter, who seemed to be as armored emotionally as he was physically.

You groaned in frustration, fisting your hands through your hair as you sank back into the pilot’s chair. Hearts always chose the most difficult path. He was a stars forsaken Mandalorian. His bounties and religion were his life, and there was no room for any love or any partner.

‘But he still brought you on board. He still loves and cares for the baby.’ The thought flickered across your train of thought, and you pushed down the faint sense of hope that followed it with a sense of near despair.

Something nudged at the edge of your mind, and your eyes snapped open. You couldn’t describe it, but something emanated through the air, coming from the general direction of the crib.   
You stood and opened the capsule. Someone was awake. 

Gently lifting the child, you cuddled it to your chest as you walked down to the bay. He fussed, obviously still sleepy, but you knew the pattern, and the little womp rat would be hungry soon.  
You grabbed the food and returned to the cockpit, settling down again in the chair as you prepared the food for the baby. However, you paused when the kid cooed again, staring up at you with those eyes that seemed to hold galaxies within. Without another sound, the child curled up against you, burrowing into the crook of your arm before falling back asleep, contented little purrs rumbling out of its little mouth.

Your heart felt full to bursting, and you gently stroked a finger over the tiny wrinkled forehead as the baby dozed on. You were by no means a decisive person, but you knew in a second that there were certain facts about your life as it was currently.

First. You had a family here, a weird, sort of stunted one, but a family nonetheless. 

Second. You would never abandon this family.

Third. Something happened in your chest every single time you looked at Mando. You didn’t know why-- 

You stopped yourself. You knew why, and you took a deep breath before continuing.

You had feelings for Mando, potentially ones that he did not return. However, feelings that at this point he definitely knew about. Your eyes shot open as you realized that you wanted Mando.   
The kind of want that made your brain blur when around him, and your heart clench whenever you saw him playing with the kid.

Want. Wasn’t that the problem here? To want something means that you don’t need it. But damn if it doesn’t feel good to do so. In your old life, before the Crest, before Mando, before the child that had grabbed hold of your heart, there was no room for want. Wanting meant weakness, and weakness, well, weakness meant that you wouldn’t be around to want anymore soon.   
You were strong. You would survive rejection. Didn’t mean that you wanted to have to go through it.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This has been sitting in my back folder for a while, and I just wanted to post it to see what y'all think. Any constructive criticism would be so appreciated please and thank you!


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